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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951188">wanting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics'>fluffysfics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff with a Sad Ending, Sexting, Texting, dubcon, in that the Doctor doesn’t know who O really is, rated M for the Doctor being horny, set during Spyfall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:40:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,405</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You’re allowed to want things for yourself, Doctor.’</p><p>O is a good influence on her. Possibly the best influence she’s had in years. And he’s beautiful, so the Doctor can’t help but flirt when they meet again in person. There’s no harm in that.</p><p>Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wanting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Doctor does not have many people left that she can trust. </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There’s plenty of her old companions still hanging around on Earth- Jo, Tegan, and Martha, just to name a few. But she hasn't seen any of them in so long, and coming to them with her problems <em>now</em> would require an amount of explanation that gives her a headache just to think about. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There’s River, who is sort-of dead in her personal timeline, but since when do they ever meet in the right order? If she can trust anyone with her problems, it should be her wife. And yet the Doctor still feels that she shouldn’t, like it would be breaking some strange rule to just...hop down to Stormcage like she’d used to and break River out to cuddle under the stars and talk about her problems. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So, she doesn’t go to her companions, and she doesn’t go to her wife. Instead, the Doctor curls up on her too-large bed, not daring to climb under the covers lest sleep claim her like it’s been threatening to do for days now, and she texts a man she’s met in person exactly once. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She does this more often than she’d willingly admit to anyone, least of all her companions. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>O is nice. He’s known her since that face with the silly bowtie and no eyebrows, and he’s proven himself a good friend. The Doctor texts him with her problems, and the advice he sends her touches something deep inside that no one else has been able to do for a long time. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He makes her feel like she doesn’t have to constantly want to save the universe. Like she can still be a good person, even if she’s not rescuing children, or foiling evil plots, or cracking jokes. She can be good, even when she’s miserable and sick to her stomach with the worry that she’s not doing <em>enough</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her last self had left her a high bar to live up to. <em>Laugh hard, run fast, be kind</em>- the middle one was easy, but the other two had been giving her an unprecedented amount of trouble this time around. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>O hears about her worries, and he texts her back, <em>always</em>, with advice and reassurance and...kisses. No one else texts her kisses. No one has done that since River. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>To the Doctor, O is a source of comfort, of hope- not to mention, just about the only link to her past selves that she can still bear to stay in touch with. A good influence, something she desperately needs these days. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s more than that too, sometimes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When kind words aren’t enough, he’ll tell her how incredibly beautiful she is and always has been, as long as he’s known her, and the words always make the Doctor’s hearts flutter like she’s 90 and crushing on her best friend again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’ll say she’s beautiful, and brilliant, that she’s like a million suns wrapped up into one person, and every time it makes the Doctor gaze at her phone screen like she can hardly believe he exists. That a real person knows her, knows her mind, knows her <em>problems</em>, and still thinks this way about her. Still wants her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Every time, she asks him for more, and every time, O obliges. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her texts to him always get a little bit shaky after that, because it’s damn hard to text with one hand down her pants and pleasure shooting through her veins like fireworks. O doesn’t seem to mind. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>——</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They meet again in Australia. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s the dead of night, and her companions are asleep. The Doctor is sure that O must be, too, and she considers doing her usual routine of lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling until the humans start to move again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Instead, she leaves her TARDIS, deciding she’ll go sit on the front porch of O’s house. It’s nice out there, the vast expanse of outback refreshingly uncluttered compared to either her bedroom or the interior of his house. Besides, she should probably keep an eye out for those awful, fascinating glowing things, just in case they decide to come back. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor steps outside, expecting to be alone, and finds O already out there, leaning against a post and gazing across the landscape. For a moment, he doesn’t notice her, and he looks...pensive, like there’s more on his mind than she could hope to fathom. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then she clears her throat, and he looks up, and he smiles like she’s just brought him the best present in the world. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hi,” she says, going to lean against the wooden railing next to him. Just close enough to nudge against his shoulder if she wants to. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hey.” O’s gaze lingers on the outback for a minute, then returns to her face. He has such lovely eyes. The Doctor had almost forgotten just how nice they were in person. <em>Almost</em>, because some things were just too perfect to slip from her mind completely, even after two regenerations. “You’re up late.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So are you,” she points out. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shrugs. “Someone has to keep watch. Thought they might come back.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Huh. They’re a lot alike, aren’t they? The Doctor smiles, and knocks her shoulder gently against his. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>I</em> came out to keep watch. Don’t need to sleep much. Bit of a rubbish way to spent a night, staring at nothin’, but- well, thought I might as well. Hey- you’re human! Get some rest!”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.” O turns his body, so he’s still leaning against the railing, but the full force of his gaze is on her. He’s beautiful. “Not with you here. And the aliens, I guess. Mostly you, though.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor tries very hard not to blush, but it seems to be one of those reflexes that is a lot harder to control than you might think. She stares at him, momentarily lost for words. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“...I’m an alien too, y’know.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah.” O laughs. “I know. You make it easy to forget, sometimes, but...I know.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What’s that mean?” She frowns. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’re so human, Doctor, when you talk to me. You have the same feelings as anyone else living on this planet. You’re just like any of them. Us. Same pain, same worries, same...crushes.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor finds herself far too preoccupied by the word ‘crushes’ to linger over O’s slip of the tongue one sentence earlier. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Crushes?” She stares at him, and leans forward just a little. He has the entirety of her attention, the outback and the possibility of another attack completely gone from her mind. O looks her up and down, and the look in his eyes is...it’s <em>something</em>. And then it’s gone, and the Doctor hasn’t see anyone gaze at her so adoringly since River. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Okay, sometimes you’re pretty alien, too.” A smile twitches at his lips. “Actually... I don’t know. Do they count as crushes if you’ve already spent sixteen different nights telling each other how much you want to- um. You know.” <em>He</em> blushes then, and fiddles adorably with the hem of his shirt, like he can’t bear to say it out loud. Oh, he’s sweet. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You were counting?” Somehow, that’s what sticks out to her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah. Count everything, me. Got a good head for numbers, they had me doing data analysis at MI6.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s my name.” Mischief sparkles in his eyes, and the Doctor is inexplicably reminded of a balcony on Gallifrey, flirting, a similar sparkle in someone else’s eyes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She smiles, and wonders how appropriate it would be to proposition a human in the middle of possibly the most crisis-y crisis she’s faced this regeneration. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Not very, she decides, and lets her gaze travel over the length of his body once before forcing herself to meet his eyes again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“We don’t both need to keep watch,” she offers, thinking he might need some rest despite what he’d said earlier, and regrets it immediately when she sees O’s face fall. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, if you’d rather I wasn’t-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No! No.” The Doctor reaches out, grabs his arm like she’s afraid he’ll vanish off into the night like those creatures. “Sorry. Misspoke. Not good with words, just thought you might-“ She shakes her head. “Never mind.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then she looks down at her hand, and realises she’s still holding his arm. The touch doesn’t pain her like it normally does, doesn’t make her want to twist away and scrub at her skin until she feels like herself again. She stares at his arm, and marvels, and apparently marvels a little too long, because the next thing she knows, O is laughing softly and resting his hand over hers. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His hand is warm. Really warm. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Did I break you, Doctor? You’ve been, um...staring at my arm, for about a minute.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>Sorry</em>.” She starts, and draws her hand away. O looks almost disappointed. She blinks at him. Right. Last time he saw her in person, she’d been Bowtie, and she was pretty sure she’d planted a smooch on his forehead before jumping back in her TARDIS. That one had liked touch a little <em>too</em> much. “Um. Not good with touch this time,” she explains, suddenly flustered again. “But you...don’t feel so bad.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Huh,” he says, and there’s that flicker in his eyes again, something strange and unquantifiable before he’s back to wide-eyed, innocent curiosity.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>O reaches out, and rests his hand on the side of her face. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor leans into it like a cat, her eyes fluttering shut, and she hears O draw in a breath. His touch feels familiar, somehow, and she can only put it down to the fact that they’ve met before, in another body, unlike anyone else she’s in contact with regularly these days. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Doctor,” he says softly, and she opens her eyes. “You really are beautiful.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s like something deep within her is trained to respond to those words. Her hearts flutter again, and she’s reminded of Koschei, of childhood, and she presses her eyes shut for a second and forces his face from her mind. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’re not bad yourself,” she murmurs, and O stifles a grin. Badly. The Doctor grins right back. “Okay. I’m lying. You’re gorgeous.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>That makes his smile fade, and for a moment his expression is- is- is soft, is beaming at her, whatever else had been on his face replaced with overwhelming, delighted adoration. And maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s selfish, but the Doctor <em>likes</em> to be adored. O has taught her that it’s not so terrible to be selfish sometimes. It’s not so terrible to <em>want</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Doctor,” he says again, and she tilts her head. “Can I kiss you?” The way he asks is so gentle, so shy, like he’s really afraid she’ll say no. Like she hasn’t texted him far filthier things in the dead of night, from the safety of her bed. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yes,” she says. “<em>Please</em>,” she says, more insistently. O seems to <em>like</em> that, and then his lips are on hers. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor has spent more time than she’d admit imagining how it would feel to kiss him. She’s not been too far off the mark. O is soft, wonderfully soft, lips just as sweet and gentle as those beautiful eyes. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She kisses him back, and his hands squeeze her shoulders tightly, like he’s not quite sure he has permission to move them anywhere else. The Doctor would let him put those hands anywhere he wants. But her shoulders are fine for now. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The only detail unlike her imagination is that same aching twinge of familiarity, like she’s felt these lips against her own before. She hasn’t, she <em>knows</em> she hasn’t, it’s just- it’s <em>maddening</em>. She wants more. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She shifts, and presses O back against the railing, and curls a hand into his hair as she takes control of the kiss. He seems surprised, but not in any bad way- his hands flail for a second, and come to rest on her back. The Doctor suddenly regrets keeping her coat on. She didn’t need to guard against the chill of the night when this kiss seemed to have liquid fire pouring through her body. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For a few long, blissful minutes, nothing matters except O’s lips, and the way his thick black hair is so <em>soft</em> under her hand, the way his body moves and presses against her like he just can’t get enough. But eventually the Doctor needs to breathe properly, and she’s sure O’s poor human lungs must be practically on fire. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So she pulls away, and she gazes at him, takes in the way those big dark eyes look just a little dazed. She’s messed up his hair, too. Oops. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“...Wow,” he says, and something in his voice sounds a little different. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, the lightness in his tone is back. “That- Doctor, you’re- you really are brilliant.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She beams at him, still breathing hard. “Been wanting to do that for a while,” she admits, ducking her head, and O laughs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I would never have guessed. All that texting didn’t even give me a hint,” he says, and the Doctor quirks her head with a smile. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Didn’t take you for the sarcastic type.” She taps him lightly on the end of the nose. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>O seems to mentally flail for a moment, and then he’s blushing again, and grinning at her, and the Doctor feels her hearts melting. “Yeah, well. Changed a bit since you last saw me in person. Got fired. Got all cynical.” He tries to look fierce and jaded, and the effect is somewhat similar to a Labrador puppy attempting to intimidate a full-grown house cat. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She hums, and kisses him again, like his lips are some new drug she can’t get enough of. This is the first time she’s kissed someone in this body, and the Doctor can’t think of anyone she’d rather it be. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She can think of a few other firsts she’d be happy to have with O, and she runs her tongue across his lips, kisses him deeper, and wonders again about the appropriateness of sleeping with him right now. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He seems to be having similar thoughts, because this time it’s him who breaks away from the kiss, and his arms are slung around her neck, his fingers toying with her hair. That’s a nice feeling, the Doctor thinks, and her focus is wholly on that for a moment until she realises she’s missed what he just said. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hm?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I asked, um- if you wanted to do anything else tonight.” He blushes deeper at the words, the pink flush visible through the brown of his skin. “Since, well- there are- are they aliens?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She shrugs. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Since there are things that might be aliens, or else they’re something else unpleasant, and they might come back.” O reaches up, trailing his fingers down the side of her face. “We could wait. Save everything else for another day. I want there to be another day.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>That only works if there is another day</em>, the Doctor thinks, and then pulls a face because that’s just...morbid. Of course there’s going to be another day, there was no reason for there not to be. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“...Yeah,” she says. Waiting is fine. Waiting is good. She doesn’t want to pressure this endlessly sweet human into doing anything too fast, not when he’s spent months, years- she’s not entirely sure how long it’s been on his end- comforting and flattering and reassuring her, being so <em>nice</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She pulls away, so that O can stand up straight. He does, smoothing down his hair. The Doctor neatens his clothes for him, fingers brushing over the purple undershirt he’s wearing beneath all that outdoorsy stuff. It’s a nice shade of purple, she thinks. Suits him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You should wear more clothes that colour.” She prods the shirt. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>O looks down at himself, and nods. “Maybe I will,” he says, smiling. “For you. Hey- I’ve got a hammock round the back. We can sit there for a while, if you want. It’s nice. Relaxing.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Relaxing sounds like what she needs right now, with everything still feeling a little bit too hot and shaky. The Doctor nods, and finds herself being led around the back of the house. O steals one more kiss; his face is lit by the glow of a small electric lamp, and she can’t help but call him beautiful, because he is. He just smiles, and hops up onto the hammock. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She joins him, and he coaxes her into lying with her head in his lap, and he strokes her hair. O is right; this is relaxing. Perhaps the Doctor would prefer to see his face, but from her occasional glance upwards, he just looks pensive again, gazing out across the landscape. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She leaves him to his thoughts and his staring, and gets on with her own. Tonight is nice. Despite everything, despite the horrifying prospect of a creature that can walk through walls, get into her TARDIS with ease, the Doctor feels more content than she has in a while. O makes everything he touches, metaphorically and literally, feel <em>good</em>, and she loves that about him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>——</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s been a week since she saw Gallifrey burned to the ground. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor is lying curled on her bed, clutching her phone, just like she’s done so many times before. Still desperately avoiding sleep. Even more desperately than before, now. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She scrolls through her WhatsApp messages with O. Fish. Kisses. A picture of her and Ryan, posing near a waterfall made of crystals. More kisses. Her, telling him how desperately alone she felt, and him, reassuring her that she’d always have him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She curls tighter around herself, and presses her eyes shut. Her chest aches; she should be crying, but this self is terrible at it. O had been so completely, utterly genuine; not for even a second had she thought his kind words were anything other than well-intentioned. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Apparently she’s feeling masochistic, because the Doctor scrolls further, and finds herself staring at messages of him calling her beautiful, of him telling her the ways he wants to touch her, of her sending him encouragement, demanding more, reiterating over and over how much she wants him. The Master must have loved that, she thinks, and she remembers kissing him, and now she really does find herself sobbing into the sheets. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She remembers how comforted she’d been, that night. How happy, how absolutely <em>blind</em>, not to notice any of his slip-ups, the way there always seemed to be something hiding under his expressions. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She scrolls a little more through their messages. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>You’re allowed to want things for yourself, Doctor</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’d said that to her when she’d been fretting over something stupidly small- Yaz had tried to hold her arm as they were crossing a stream somewhere, and had looked so disappointed when the Doctor had flinched away, and she’d spent the rest of the day worrying over whether it would be easier to just hide her emotions and let her companions touch her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She stares at the message, gripping her phone so tightly that her knuckles turn white. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>What she <em>wants</em>, deep inside of herself, past all the layers of ‘I shouldn’t’ and ‘put everyone else first’ and ‘he’s a genocidal egomaniac’, is <em>him</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, if he hadn’t wanted to let her lay in his lap while he stroked her hair, the Master could just have gone to bed. But he didn’t. He wanted, just as much as she did. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor thinks this, and then she hates herself for it, because that’s- that’s a justification for her emotions, and how <em>dare</em> she still want him after everything he’s just done. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She remembers how soft his lips had been against hers, how sweet and shy and yet how <em>familiar</em>-</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The next thing she knows, her phone hits the wall with a loud <em>thud</em>, and clatters against the floor. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor doesn’t bother to check if the screen is cracked. She curls up as tightly as she can, and she remembers the Master, and she <em>wants</em>. Wants to talk, wants to touch, wants to <em>know</em>. It hurts, it hurts so much that it’s like a physical pain in her chest. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But she can’t help herself. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She never has been able to stop herself from wanting, when it comes to him. </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what’s the opposite of ‘angst with a happy ending’, because I think that’s what I did here...</p><p>hope you enjoyed, comments and kudos very very much appreciated &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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